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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27655288">like sandpaper</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/flannelblues/pseuds/flannelblues'>flannelblues</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Criminal Minds (US TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Autistic Spencer Reid, Gen, Hurt, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Protective Derek Morgan, Spencer Reid Needs a Hug</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 21:09:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,018</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27655288</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/flannelblues/pseuds/flannelblues</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Morgan confronts Spencer in a hotel about relapsing.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Derek Morgan &amp; Spencer Reid</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>103</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>like sandpaper</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Spencer’s faded chestnut-brown messenger bag rests on the grimy off-white carpet, having been emptied of all its meager contents, even the minuscule side pockets that nobody ever really bothers to check (most of the time, at least) are turned inside out, exposing a few small holes in their lining. The sun’s descended just low enough for a deep, marigold-like light to cascade through cheap polyester curtains. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The hotel air is thick with the smell of the previous inhabitant’s alcohol and cheap cleaning product, a strange blend of spirits and lemon. Spencer’s brain aches with each creak of the ceiling fan, which, even on the lowest setting seems a few seconds away from crashing to the floor, and maybe letting them avoid this conversation. Instead, it just keeps creaking again and again. He breathes out, there’s not going to be much rest for him tonight, is there?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You got high today, didn’t you? While you were getting coffee for me and JJ.” Derek half yells, half sighs at him. There’s a pause as he gnaws his dry lips and paces the room, work shoes still laced and on, he’s completely right, of course. It’d been a tough day at the police precinct, there was no reason to think the team would really notice him being gone for a little longer than usual. Honestly, he’s surprised he’s being confronted about it before the case has been properly solved in the first place. And he’s a little annoyed, to be honest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> “Were you going to tell me? Were you even going to tell any of us? Reid?” He looks to the young man curled in on himself atop of the tightly-tucked sheets. His face firmly nested in the crook of his elbow as he uses frail hands to clutch his beige cardigan. He doesn’t want to be here. Not right now. Why’d he’d have to get caught, by Derek Morgan of all people? Maybe if he’d gone to that disgusting public bathroom at any other time, or just waited until he got back to the hotel, this could’ve been avoided. Maybe he wouldn’t have even needed to dodge his team’s attention if he’d quit after things started getting too hard, like Gideon, or maybe if he’d not come back from that dark, quiet shed in the end altogether.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>God, he’s stupid.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>(Now they’re all going to leave him.)</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry.” Spencer croaks out. It’s hard for Derek to really be angry with him when he just looks so small. But no, this has to be addressed properly before more mistakes are made. Before someone gets hurt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“<em>Just</em>.” He takes a deep breath, “Tell me how long it’s been since you started using again.” He pleads, trying to keep his voice authoritative but not intimidating. The last thing Spencer needs right now is to feel threatened by one of the only people he can trust.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’ know..” Derek kneels down to his friend’s level, he still can’t properly see his expression, but Spencer turns to face him instead of the wall, so that’s a start. “A month, maybe?” Even though the knowledge that it’s almost definitely been longer than that nags at the back of both their minds.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Spencer finally cracks his eyes open, only to distantly stare at the old, stained carpet as he desperately tries to keep his breaths from getting too shallow. It’s all too quiet, even with the creaking ceiling fan. His mind overcompensates for the silence, shouting a million conflicting thoughts at him, about how he can’t feel good without being high, how Derek doesn’t care about him anyway, how nobody does, why nobody should, the fact that they do really just want to help, how he can’t do this alone, but also why he deserves to. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span> “I’m sorry.” He repeats, so much quieter than before. Derek doesn’t look back at him for a second, but then he gently sits next to Spencer’s long, thin legs on the bed, who shifts slightly, weakly, to make just enough room for him. His body doesn’t want to move, he’s just so tired. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You could’ve told me, kid. You know that, right? We’re family, I need to know when you’re hurting, and especially when you’re in danger.” There’s no answer given. But once Derek opens his mouth to continue, Spencer manages to beat him to it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t tell Hotch. You can’t.” His voice is muffled by the pillow, but Derek understands what he’s saying. A few seconds too many pass, and Spencer, just slightly, raises his voice. “<em>Please</em>.” The sheets feel like sandpaper as he tries to push himself up. His head’s cloudier now, but he knows that no matter what, Hotch can’t know he failed again. Derek knowing is bad enough. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on Spencer, it’s not like you’re going to get in trouble. And you know I have to-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t.” He says quickly, harshly. Derek watches him, looking younger than ever as he sits up to look the older man in the eye through wet eyelashes. They stare-off for a moment before Derek sighs, knowing this is a time where he needs to hold his ground. “Listen to me.” He says, slow, “I don’t care how mad you get with me, kid. If it’s between your safety and how you feel about me, you’ve gotta know exactly what I’m going to choose.” Spencer just keeps looking at him, unreadable. “Tomorrow, or after we solve this damn case, I’m going to talk to Hotch.” He’s met with a somewhat pathetic, begging glare, but that’s not enough to stop him. “And you’re going to have a few weeks off, maybe more if you need. And I’m going to help you get clean, get better, okay? It’s not up for discussion and nobody outside me and Hotch even needs to know.” Derek slowly reaches his hand out and combs his fingers through Spencer’s, now knotted, hair. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Spencer’s spindly fingers fiddle with the fabric of his chinos. He starts to nod, even with uncertainty clouding his eyes as he whispers, “Okay.”, just loud enough for Derek to hear him over the fan.</span>
</p>
<p><br/>
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</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thanks for reading! it's been a lil since i've written outside of economic reports (ew) so let me know what you thought haha</p></blockquote></div></div>
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